


Anticipation

by AteYellowPaint



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing Kink, Early 70s, Early Queen (Band), Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Lingerie, M/M, Romance, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut, Suggested sub/dom, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26609191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AteYellowPaint/pseuds/AteYellowPaint
Summary: The band goes to see a showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show after a long day in the recording studio. The experience awakens something in Roger and he can't get certain... thoughts about John out of his head.-or-Roger and John are kinky bitches lolSet in September, 1975.
Relationships: John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Comments: 42
Kudos: 67





	1. Come Up to the Lab

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my lovelies, I am excited to post my first fanfic in a long, long time! This fic is going to be five chapters long, and it's pure, shameless, kinky smut. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a man in lingerie.

“Right, right, let’s stop there,” Freddie calls from the mixing table.

“Are you sure?” Roger takes is headphones off and peers at Freddie through the glass. He looks absolutely exhausted - they’ve been holed up in the studio all day laying down the tracks to _’39_ and Roger’s been trying to get his operatic solo right for the last thirty minutes.

“Darling, if we keep going I fear you’ll blow your voice.”

“Alright.” Roger hangs up the headphones and makes his way out of the booth. Freddie is right. After a full day of recording, his upper range is gone.

Roger eyes the enticingly comfortable couch and sprawls out next to John, resting his head on his narrow shoulder.

Since the band are the only ones in the studio, he’s able to show more affection towards John. With the band’s reputation for being touchy-feely with each other, they can get away with a lot in the public eye, but they still need to be careful with others around.

The dim room and steady rise and fall of his boyfriend’s chest has fatigue rapidly descending upon Roger. John begins to stroke his hair; the light tingles against his scalp only add to the tempting siren song of sleep. He could almost fall into a deep slumber if it wasn’t for Freddie and Brian’s incessant bickering.

“What are they on about now?” Roger mumbles, enjoying the soft sensations of John’s fingers running through his hair.

“Fred’s been trying to convince us to go to the movies ever since you went to the booth.” John chuckles as if the situation amuses him.

“The movies?”

Freddie’s ears must have burned because he turns towards the pair, his eyes lighting up. “Yes, my darlings,” he says, clasping his hands together. “We’ve been working ourselves to the bone and I believe we all deserve a night out at the cinema before they cart us off to camp next week.”

The “camp” - as Freddie likes to refer to it - is Ridge Farm. The importance of their upcoming album’s financial success isn’t lost on any of the team, especially management, and they thought sending the band off to a retreat studio might help them produce a masterpiece. They’d already been through two recording studios and a lot of money, and Ridge Farm seemed like management’s last hope for them. It goes unspoken, but all four of them feel the pressure.

“Freddie, all I’m saying is we’re exhausted,” says Brian, always the reasonable one. “And we need to be back here early in the morning. We can’t afford to go to the movies tonight.”

“And all I’m saying is a fancy night out might be just what we need.”

“What film did you have in mind?” John asks, his fingers still tangled in Roger’s blonde locks, drawing a deep sigh out of Roger.

Freddie flicks his dark hair out of his eyes and smiles devilishly. “It’s a delicious little number called _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ and they’re playing it right down the street.”

“Is that the one with the bloke in drag?” asks Brian.

“The very one,” Freddie says, “and it promises a viewing experience full of debauchery and hedonism, which I don’t know about you, but I am always up for.”

“I don’t know, Freddie,” says Roger, finally contributing to the conversation. Truthfully, he could stay exactly where he is all night.

“Oh, come on, darling! Don’t be boring.” Freddie says as he squeezes on the couch next to Roger, moving his leg out of the way and placing it in his lap.

“I think it might be fun.” says John, rubbing Rogers shoulders in an attempt to keep him awake.

“It’ll end late, though,” Roger whines.

“The great Mr. Taylor is complaining about a late night?” John teases and pinches his arm. “Not two weeks ago did you stay out ‘till three in the morning and still manage to make it to the studio the next day.”

Roger chuckles and leans back to fall across John’s lap. God, his boyfriend is beautiful. He reaches up and strokes his boyfriend’s cheek with the back of his hand. When they first started dating, it embarrassed him how hopelessly soft John made him. But now he would shout his love from the rooftops, if only he could.

“Do you want to go?” Roger asks.

“I think it might be fun.”

He can never say no to that face.

“Alright, then we’re going,” Roger hauls himself up off the couch. “What do you say, Bri?”

Brian looks between his three bandmates and lets out an exasperated sigh before he says, “Alright, let’s go.”

“That’s right, my good man.” Roger walks over to Brian and jokingly puts his arm around the tall man’s shoulders, dragging him slightly down and slapping his chest. “If it makes you feel any better, I heard Susan Sarandon has her tits out at one point.”

That earns a laugh from Freddie and John as the four grab their coats and walk out of the studio into the brisk September evening.

***

The theater Freddie brings them to is in a beautiful old building. With the Edison bulbs around the marquee, the smell of popcorn wafting through the air, and red velvet curtains lining the brick walls, it feels like the place is ripped straight from an old Hollywood movie. Of course Freddie picked somewhere glamorous for an “impromptu” movie night.

The four get in line for concessions with Brian and Freddie in the front and Roger and John behind them. Although their band is on the rise, they’re still able to go out in public without too much risk of being recognized.

Roger puts his arm around John’s shoulders and holds onto the brunette’s upper arm. The label may have warned them to be careful, but Roger has never been one for rules.

“Are you excited for the movie?” John asks.

“Oh, I’m just here because of the promise of tits.”

John playfully elbows Roger’s side and looks down into his eyes.

Roger chuckles and gives his arm a squeeze. He loves the way John’s laugh crinkles the corners of his eyes, the way his nose scrunches up, the way his lips part…

For a moment, he forgets where they are and almost moves up to kiss the beautiful, hazel-eyed man before him, but he snaps himself out of it with a quick look around before training his attention on the back of Brian’s head.

John must have noticed Roger’s intentions because he gives Roger one more nudge before he snakes his arm around his waist. He always presents as the quiet one, but Roger knows he has a rebellious streak, too.

***

Once they get into the theater, it’s absolutely packed, but Freddie manages to find them a group of empty chairs towards the middle. The four clamber over a few people before they make it to their seats.

As soon as Roger sits down, his exhaustion catches up to him again. He slumps down in his velvet-lined seat and sprawls out his legs. Brian seems to have the same idea, and the two fight for space until finally, Brian wins.

Roger is only momentarily annoyed because he quickly becomes distracted when a knee comes to rest on top of his own. John has crossed one leg on top the other, causing his knee to invade Roger’s space. Instead of battling for room, John lets them touch.

John’s eyes are trained on the advertisements ahead and he sips on his soda, trying to disguise a smirk. Roger chuckles and places his popcorn between his legs and waits for the film to begin.

Within minutes, the lights dim and a pair of tantalizing red lips appear on the screen. Roger raises his eyebrows at the sight. Then, lips start to sing and it’s as if he goes into a trance. Something about it is so fucking hot, but that seems to be the point.

A hand reaches into his popcorn bag causing Roger to jump as he’s pulled out of the moment. He sees John looking at him with a curious expression. Roger gives a sheepish grin before he turns back to the screen.

Soon, the Time Warp is in full swing. The movie is admittedly pretty confusing, but Roger finds himself enjoying it. Really, he just enjoys the feeling of John next to him. Even after three years, he still feels the same thrill when they brush hands in the popcorn bag as he did on their first “official” date.

He reaches for the soda he and John are sharing, hoping the caffeine might help him get through the night. As Roger is guzzling down his drink, he sees something that made him sputter and choke.

There, on the silver screen, stands Tim Curry in dark eyeshadow, red lipstick, and a full set of lingerie. Roger fumbles to replace the soda in its cup holder and pounds on his chest trying to quiet his coughs.

John pats him on his back and whispers, “Rog, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Roger spurts out in between coughs. “I just swallowed wrong.”

“Hm, is that right?” John whispers suggestively.

Roger looks over to see John wearing that cheeky grin. “Shut up and watch the movie, you git.”

John simply winks and steals another handful of popcorn.

***

The cover of darkness proves to be a blessing because as the movie wears on, Roger can feel his cheeks burn hotter and hotter. John’s hand finds his and he tangles his long, elegant fingers between Roger’s. He absentmindedly strokes Roger’s thumb with his own and takes another handful of the rapidly diminishing popcorn.

Roger is too pre-occupied to worry about the popcorn, though.

Why the hell is this movie is having such an effect on him? Freddie is always prancing around in feminine clothes, but he never even bats an eye to that.

But this isn’t a tight jumpsuit or an outlandish outfit. This is different. And he can’t shake it out of his head.

He glances over at John, who seems thoroughly engrossed in the movie. The glance proves to be a mistake, though, because sinful images immediately flood his head.

John wearing a pair of sheer, black thigh-high stockings. One of the stockings coming loose and falling to his ankle after being thoroughly fucked.

A pair of black lacy panties, perfectly hugging John’s perky ass. The lace ruined and torn in the height of passion.

A satin, laced-up corset, shiny and decadent around John’s torso. The corset falling down to expose the chest that Roger loves to shower with kisses.

And the red lipstick. The fucking red lipstick.

Roger flicks his eyes down to John’s lips and desire pools in his stomach. Those lips would look so good stained in a deep red. He’s overwhelmed with the thought of reaching out and dragging his thumb across John’s bottom lip, dragging it down his chin, leaving a streak of red in its wake.

His breath becomes slightly shallow. _Fucking hell, man, get a grip._ Roger shifts in his seat and works to bring his breathing back to normal, but he can’t make himself look away.

John must have noticed the change in Roger, because he looks at him with a quizzical expression. “Everything okay?”

Roger finally gathers the strength to tear his gaze away from his boyfriend’s beautiful mouth. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

John gives Roger’s hand a squeeze and looks back to the movie.

Roger does the same. He tries to focus, but it isn’t much use.

_This is ridiculous. Stop acting like a bloody teenager._

His attempts at reasoning are useless and he knows it. The damn movie seems designed to leave poor, unsuspecting souls absolutely wrecked.

And as if the movie was reading his mind, Frankenfurter starts giving Brad a blowjob on the forty-foot screen.

It’s a good thing the popcorn bag in his lap so no stray eyes can see what the film managed to do to him. Debauched and hedonistic is right. Leave it to Freddie to pick out a movie full of camp and sex and drag.

Any remaining exhaustion left in Roger’s bones quickly dissipate and are replaced with a burning desire to have his boyfriend as soon as humanly possible. Hell, he’d drag him to the nearest supply closet right now if he could.

Roger leans over to John and pushes his chestnut hair out of the way. He cups his hand around John’s ear to conceal how close his lips are for anyone who may catch a glimpse of their interaction. “I think we should go back to your place tonight.”

Roger grins at the slight shiver that travels down John’s spine.

He shifts back into his seat, but John leans over and whispers, “I thought you were _utterly_ exhausted.”

Roger looks at John to see that familiar twinkle in his eye. He cocks an eyebrow and says in a low voice, “Not anymore.”

He turns his attention to the movie again and extracts his hand from John’s only to replace it on John’s inner thigh. He plays with the inseam of his jeans and smirks when he elicits a quiet gasp from John.

With the dim flicker of the movie, Roger can see John focusing hard on keeping a neutral face. Good.


	2. And See What's on the Slab

“Well, hurry up,” Roger mumbles into John’s ear.

“You’re making it very difficult.” John fumbles with his keys, trying to fit it in the lock.

“Oh, am I?” asks Roger. He sweeps John’s hair aside and gently brushes back his collar, exposing the soft skin of his neck. He smiles when John’s breath hitches before he even does anything.

He wraps his other arm around John and presses himself into his back before stands back on his toes and just barely brushing his lips against the crook of his neck. John’s hand falters and he misses the lock yet again.

“What if someone sees us?”

“Sweetheart, you live on the top floor of a ratty old flat,” Roger whispers into John’s ear. “I could fuck you right here and no one would be the wiser.”

“Jesus, Rog,” John hisses when Roger nips at his earlobe.

Roger softly chuckles into John’s ear. He could do this all night, but he takes pity and grabs the keys out of his boyfriend’s shaking hand. He quickly finds and turns the lock and shoves them both inside.

Once he closes the door to the small flat, he flips them around and pushes John against the door. He tightens is grip on John’s hip and places one hand on John’s neck; he doesn’t squeeze, just makes its presence known.

Roger absolutely melts when John’s eyes flutter close and the smallest whimper escapes his parted lips. He looks angelic in the moonlight that casts a stripe of soft light across his face. Roger strokes John’s throat with his thumb and just studies him until John looks down and meets his eyes. Roger runs his hand down from John’s neck and pops open the top button of his shirt, a small smile playing on his lips. He hooks his finger around the fabric and draws it down to take a nip at the exposed collarbone.

The gasp he elicits from John echoes in Roger's head. He slots his thigh in between John’s leg, pulling him closer and grinding into him. He doesn’t give John time to think and starts ravaging his neck with messy bites and kisses, relishing in the feeling of John’s cock growing harder against his leg and the short breaths escaping his lips.

John’s arms wind their way around Roger’s neck, one hand cupping the base of his head. Roger shivers at the feeling of John’s fingers in his hair.

“What’s got you so hot and bothered?” John asks after a particularly rough bite on his shoulder. Roger bites him again, just to hear the pretty moan it produces.

Roger draws his head back and brings his lips close to John’s. “What, I can’t just want my boyfriend?”

“You can, but I thought you were _utterly_ exhausted,” John teases with an overdramatic eye roll.

“Don’t be chee—" Roger’s retort is cut off when the hand at the base of his head grabs his hair and pulls back. His breath hitches when John starts to nip at the sensitive skin behind his ear. Roger has enough clarity left to wonder if it’ll leave a mark, but not enough left to care.

He’s too distracted to notice John’s hand sneak down and take hold of his hip. Before he can register what’s happening, he’s flipped around and John has his hands flat against the door at Roger’s waist, effectively trapping him.

“Are you sure there’s no other reason?” John’s eyes are trained on him, glinting with a hint of knowing. Roger can’t look away.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roger says as nonchalantly as his current state allows.

“I saw that boner you popped during the movie,” John says in a low voice, ghosting his hand over Roger’s cock. Roger can’t stop the small, desperate moan that escapes his lips.

John’s eyes rake over Roger’s face before he lets out a soft chuckle, confirming that Roger’s face is as red as it feels hot. “Don’t be shy, now. You can tell me.”

“What can I say? I’m a randy bastard.” Roger attempts to grind his hips against John’s leg, needing any sort of friction to relieve the mounting pressure, but John grabs his hips and holds him to the door, denying Roger any sort of relief.

“Hm, if you say so,” John murmurs, his lips inches away from Roger.

Roger regrets not kissing John when he had the chance. His lips are right there. He can do it if he wants - seize back control. But Roger is stilled when John starts to speak again.

“Now, are we going to the bedroom or am I just going to fuck you against this door; let the whole bloody building hear you scream?” John says as he places his hand under Roger’s chin and lifts his head up, staring into his eyes, waiting for Roger’s answer.

_Fuck._

This is always Roger’s favorite part - their battle for power. Most nights, he would put up more of a fight. Most nights, he would take control, reduce John to a beautiful, withering mess.

But, not tonight.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he croaks out a small, whimpering, “Please,” barely above a whisper.

John chuckles and strokes Roger’s burning cheek with his thumb. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Bedroom,” Roger whispers and then clears his throat.

“Bedroom,” he says again, trying to sound more assertive, though he knows it only comes out as desperate as he feels.

With a smile, John releases Roger and leads them through the small flat. Once they get to his bedroom, they kick off their shoes and John gently pushes Roger towards the bed. When he feels the backs of his legs hit the bed, Roger falls back, propping himself up on his elbows.

His heart flutters as John slowly crawls on top of him. His blood burns beneath his skin when John straddles his waist, making a point not to give Roger any sort of contact.

John brushes his long, brown hair out of his face and gives Roger a soft, gap-toothed grin. Heaven help him, he would do absolutely anything for that man.

He reaches out and runs his hand up John’s thigh. For a moment, he imagines what it would feel like if there were thin stockings wrapped around John’s legs instead of the jeans there now.

His hand stutters and his own jeans grow tighter as the thought screws with his brain. He can feel the heat rise in his face again and silently curses Freddie for taking them to that damn movie.

John simply raises an eyebrow and says, “Wow, I didn’t even have to do anything.”

“Take these off,” Roger mutters, ignoring the comment as he fumbles with the button on John’s jeans.

John stills Roger’s shaking hands and climbs off the bed. He misses his weight immediately.

“As you wish,” John says.

He stands at the foot of the bed and shimmies out of his jeans. Just when Roger thinks he’s done, the bastard picks up the jeans and begins to turn them right side out. Roger’s jaw drops when he realizes that John is folding the damn things.

“Of all bloody times to worry about laundry!” Roger sputters as he watches John bring the pants to his dresser. John simply shoots him a wink and Roger falls back on the bed, exasperated at being left in the cold. “I swear, you’ll be the death of me.”

“So impatient,” John chides as he makes his way back to the bed.

Roger looks up to see his boyfriend standing over him again. He shudders when John places his hands on his thighs and runs them up to his waistband. He takes slowly unbuttons his jeans and Roger swears time slows to a standstill when he pulls down his fly.

John grabs the waistband and starts pulling it down, inch by inch. Roger’s nerves set alight when he feels wet kisses make their way down his inner thigh; it tickles slightly and he squirms on the bed as if his body can't decide if it's too much or if he needs _more, more, more_. His breath comes out in short pants as John teases the sensitive skin under his knee with the edge of his teeth and continues his path down Roger's calf.

Roger is all too painfully aware that John has done hardly anything to him and he’s already shaking like a leaf. He tries to get a hold of himself, but it's no use. 

Once his jeans are off, John crawls in between Roger's legs. This time he sinks down just low enough to let his hips brush against Roger’s neglected cock.

Roger throws his head back and hisses. “Don’t be such a fucking tease, Deaky.”

John brings his head down and hums in Roger’s ear. “Mmm… no.”

“I swear,” Roger struggles to get the words out between jagged breaths as John licks and sucks on his earlobe. “I swear, I will get you - _ah_ \- I will get you back for this.”

“Promise?” John’s smooth voice reverberates through Roger’s ear and sends little shockwaves down his spine, causing him to dig his nails into John’s back.

John picks his head up and looks down at Roger with a mischievous glint in his eye. His mouth is slightly parted and Roger can’t help but bring his hand up to cup his face. He slowly, so slowly, moves his thumb to the opposite corner of John’s mouth. He drags his thumb along John’s bottom lip, watching as it moves so deliciously under his touch.

Once Roger looks back up, John's eyes have lost their playfulness and now reflect something deeply carnal. Roger can’t take it anymore. He grips the back of John’s neck and pulls him down into a searing kiss, wrapping his leg around John’s waist to trap him against his body. The moan John releases into Roger’s mouth is so guttural that is sends Roger reeling. He feels absolutely _drunk_ on it. He rolls his tongue against John's, lapping up that sickly sweet aftertaste of soda in his mouth and reveling in the sounds he can pull out of the beautiful man above him.

He releases John’s neck and pushes on his chest to desperately start undoing the buttons on John’s shirt. He needs to feel more of him _now_. John must be just as eager, because he takes over and finishes with the rest of the buttons that Roger can’t reach.

Once John tears off his shirt and casts it aside, he finally breaks the kiss, placing a gentle hand on Roger’s chest while he catches his breath.

John lets out a little giggle and says, “I love you, you know,” like he couldn’t even help it from slipping out.

They’d already said it a million times over, but that doesn’t stop Roger from feeling like his heart will burst out of his chest.

“I love you, too,” Roger whispers.

John smiles and starts to open the buttons on Roger’s shirt. Once the final button is undone, he spreads the fabric apart so it falls by Roger’s sides; the light brush of his hands have Roger shivering under his touch.

John leans down and hovers right above Roger’s lips. He’s so close they can exchange breaths, so close Roger can feel the tingle in his own lips as he waits in agony. John flicks his eyes down to Roger's lips, makes Roger believe he might actually close the distance and bless him with another kiss. Instead, he simply chuckles and grabs Roger’s chin, moving his face to the side and exposing his neck.

He leaves a trail of messy kisses that cool against Roger’s hot skin as he moves down. Roger can’t help it now. The moans he bit back are coming out in full force as John bites and sucks his way down Roger's chest.

“ _Fuck_ —" Roger shouts when John catches a nipple between his teeth. John flicks his eyes up at him and has the audacity to _wink_ before rolling his tongue over the hardened peak and biting down a little harder. Roger twists his hands in the sheets and lets out a string of curse words in response to the little sparks of pain and pleasure shooting throughout his whole body.

John releases his nipple and kisses down the rest of his torso, stopping just above the waistband to suck a mark on his hip. Roger whines and squirms under John’s attempts to still him, desperation taking its hold.

Finally. Fucking finally, John pulls off his briefs and releases his aching cock. John brings his hands up Roger’s thighs and grabs his hips, pinning Roger to the bed.

John locks eyes with Roger, a hazy grin on his face, his long hair almost brushing against the tip of Roger’s leaking cock. Roger’s mind shuts down and he swears he can see stars; the only thing that exists to him is the white-hot desire coursing through his veins. Roger’s breath grows fast and ragged at the sight of John’s lips inching closer and closer to the one place he needs to be touched the most.

“You poor thing.”

Roger drops his head back and lets out a frustrated moan; he can feel John’s hot breath on his oversensitive cock and it rips right through him.

“Oh, you must be _aching_.”

“John—“ Roger’s voice sounds absolutely wrecked to his own ears. He doesn’t have time to formulate the rest of his sentence, because before he can even comprehend what’s happening, his cock is deep inside John’s wet and warm mouth.

He lets out a strangled cry and instinctually tries to buck up his hips, but John is strong and keeps him pinned down. As he starts bobbing up and down, Roger grabs hold of the sheets and presses his head into the bed, trying to find anything that can keep him tethered to earth. He moans with abandon, chest heaving and eyes fluttering, dazed and looking at everything and nothing at all.

He can hardly stand the pleasure ripping through him and soon he feels the familiar heat pooling in his lower abdomen. His breaths start coming out in short pants, his moans turning into a staccato as the pleasure begins to tighten, fizzing at the base of his spine. All the while, John keeps a strong hold on his hips, making him take it as he gets closer and closer to the edge. But just when he feels the promise of release, John pops off of Roger with one final, loud suck. Roger arches his back off the bed and groans in frustration.

“John, _please_ —“ Roger begs, ragged and whimpering. He honestly thinks he could cry if John denies him any longer. “I need… I need—“

“I’m going to fuck you,” John says, his eyes dark with desire.

Roger is sure he stopped breathing for a second. He's surprised that John's words alone didn't make him come on the spot. Roger opens his mouth, but his tongue feels too heavy to speak. He just nods and scoots further up onto the bed.

John gets up and goes into the nightstand drawer for the lube. Before he climbs back on the bed, he discards his briefs.

“Don’t you dare fold those, too,” Roger manages to say, though his voice is hoarse and he stumbles slightly over his own words.

John just chuckles as he crawls back into bed and bites on his lower lip. He wordlessly squirts out the lube and takes his sweet time warming it between his fingers.

Roger shudders when John places a loving kiss on his hip and enters into him with one finger. There is a slight sting as John works his finger and he nips and sucks at Roger’s hips while he gets used to the sensation.

Once the sting subsides, Roger simply whispers, “More.”

John complies and adds a second finger. A moan escapes Roger’s lips as John slowly works and stretches him open. His tangles his hand in John’s soft hair and unabashedly starts rolling his hips against John’s hand. John’s fingers find his prostate and Roger lets out a sharp cry. He tugs at John’s hair, a liquid heat spreading across his body. John lets out a soft moan against Roger’s hips, which only fuels Roger’s desire more.

“Come here.” Roger tugs on John’s arm. “Come here; fuck me. I'm ready.”

“Are you sure?” John stills his fingers and looks up at Roger. “I haven’t gotten a third—"

“Yes, _yes_ , I’m bloody sure.” Want has given way to need and Roger practically drags John up to him.

John leans down and pulls Roger into a rough, messy kiss while he feels around for the lube. Roger fumbles for it as well and finds it abandoned by his leg and blindly squirts it into his hand. He feels some drip down on his stomach, and the messy desperation of it only fuels Roger further.

He brings his clean hand to the nape of John's neck to keep him in the kiss before he reaches down and starts to stroke John’s hard cock. He’s awarded with a gorgeous moan that sounds like it came from his boyfriend’s very soul. He swallows every little cry John makes as Roger glides up and down his cock. The hot, short breaths coming out of John's nose leave Roger feeling dazed and delirious.

John pulls back from the kiss and Roger almost faints from the sight. Lips swollen and cheeks flushed, his hair falling down in a curtain around his face, his eyes staring deep into Roger’s - his favorite sin, hovering right above him, panting with a wicked grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

Roger doesn’t have too much time to enjoy the view, because soon he can feel John’s slicked-up cock teasing his entrance. Roger gives a quick nod and hisses when John starts to slide in.

It stretches him uncomfortably at first; he definitely should have let John work the third finger, but he doesn’t care. He needs John inside of him; needs the closeness.

John takes his time and kisses Roger’s neck as he bottoms out, nipping and lapping at the hollow of Roger's collarbone in a welcome distraction as Roger gets used to the stretch. Roger lightly strokes up and down John's sides as he relaxes around John.

“I’m alright now," Roger says once the pressure subsides into something more pleasurable.

John puts one hand next to Roger’s head and another on Roger’s chest to stabilize himself as he starts to move. He pulls out before oh, so slowly sliding back in. Roger’s eyes flutter close at the feeling. John keeps up the slow pace and angles himself to brush against Roger’s prostate. Heat spreads throughout Roger’s entire body and a moan spills forth from his lips.

John does it again. And again. And again. Each time, punching out a low moan from Roger while emitting a few himself.

“John,” Roger says between pants, wondering why John hasn’t picked up the pace. “I’m fine now. You can—“

“I know,” John mewls before thrusting in again, confirming Roger’s suspicion that John is doing this on purpose.

Roger endures a few more tortuous thrusts before he whispers, “Faster.”

“What was that?” asks John, his raised eyebrow giving away that he heard exactly what Roger said.

“Faster,” Roger says louder. “Please.”

John just looks at him and smiles innocently. He doesn’t comply with the request.

He brushes up against Roger’s prostate again, causing waves of pleasure to course through Roger’s body, but it’s not enough to get him to the edge. It’s absolutely maddening.

In one, final, desperate attempt to regain control and find some sort of release, Roger grabs John’s neck and gives it a light squeeze, knowing it’s his weakness. He looks into his eyes and growls, “Faster.”

He sees John falter and feels his hips break their pace. For a moment, he believes he’s succeeded. But before Roger can react, John grabs Roger's wrist and pins it above his head, tutting at Roger's behavior. For good measure, he grabs the other one as well. Roger squirms as John presses his wrists into the pillow.

“Not tonight, baby,” John practically purrs. Roger throws his head back in frustration and feels a sob threaten to bubble up in his chest. The pleasure is too great and not enough all at once, and he can’t stand it for much longer.

“Not when you beg so pretty.” John thrusts into Roger, hitting his prostate harder than before.

“Fuck!” Roger arches his back off the bed, unashamed with the noises he’s making.

When he looks back at John, his heart skips a beat. Desire and greed and just a hint of sadism are written all over John’s face. It’s not often he gets like this, but when he does, Roger burns it into his mind, committing the filthy devil before him to memory.

“Beg,” John commands and tightens his grip on Roger’s wrists.

“Deaky—" Roger chokes out.

“Beg.” John thrusts one more time and Roger feels himself come undone. Any ounce of pride he had left disappears as pleas and prayers spill forth from his lips.

“God, John— God, _please_ — You win. You win, alright? Please, just - _fuck!_ \- please just let me come—“ Roger almost cries when he feels John speed up. John’s own moans grow louder. Still, he doesn’t let up his pleading in case John might slow down again.

“I need it. I need you— Just please— please, _please!_ ” The last one sounds strangled and high in his throat as that familiar pool of heat starts to settle in his lower abdomen again. His eyes completely defocus and he starts to see double.

“John—" Roger chokes out. “John, I’m gonna-- I’m—"

John doesn’t let up. Roger barely registers that one of his hands left his wrist until he feels it wrap around his cock. Roger cries out, almost positive he’s loud enough to be heard down the street, but too deep under to care.

It only takes a few quick pumps before Roger finally gets the sweet release he’s been begging for. His vision goes white. The orgasm stuns him into silence as is entire body goes rigid and he opens and closes his mouth, but nothing comes out.

He is dimly aware of John’s own cries of pleasure and uses his free hand to pull John down to him and kiss him though his orgasm, groaning when he feels John's cum fill him up.

John collapses on top of Roger, unfazed at the sticky mix of cum and sweat all over Roger’s torso. Roger absentmindedly strokes John’s hair and tries to catch his breath.

After a few minutes, he feels John get off of him. Roger reaches out a weak hand and mumbles something incoherent in the direction he believes John went. He thinks he tried to tell him not to go, but his mind is still too fuzzy to work out the words.

“I promise, I’ll be right back,” John says softly.

The sound of the tap running drifts faintly from the bathroom. A minute later he feels the bed dip beside him and a damp washcloth gently wipe across his chest.

“I’m gonna…” Roger starts a sentence, but can’t remember where he’s going with it. John simply hums and continues with his work. Roger lets his eyes close and shifts his body wherever John coaxes him.

“I’m gonna…” Roger tries again, but is distracted by gentle fingers brushing through his wild and tangled hair. He enjoys it for a moment before he finally remembers what he wanted to say.

He looks up at John with half-lidded eyes and a blissed-out smile and says, “I’m gonna get my revenge for that.”

John lets out a delightful laugh. God, Roger would do whatever he could to hear that laugh forever.

“I’ll hold you to it,” John says before he cups Roger’s cheek and presses a light kiss to his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger and John would 100% be switches and I stand by that lol


	3. I See You Shiver With

Freddie and Brian are already at the mixing table when Roger and John shuffle into the studio. They hadn’t gotten to sleep until three in the morning, so making it to the studio for 7:00 AM was a herculean task for the both of them.

“Fun night, you two?” Freddie teases when he sees their haggard state.

John, who usually gets flustered at any mention of their sex life, doesn’t even have the energy to blush as he sets his case down beside the mixing desk.

Even through his exhaustion, Roger can’t help but feel a sense of possessive pride swell inside his chest. _If only Freddie knew what his shy little Deaky got up to behind closed doors._ They’d probably manage to scandalize even Freddie. But that side of John is only for Roger, and he intends to protect it with his life.

He sits in an empty chair and scans over the notebook where Freddie is frantically scribbling notes.

“What’s all this?” Roger asks, opting to ignore Freddie’s question.

“We’re fiddling with _The Prophet’s Song,_ ” Brian says, “It’s still doesn’t sound right.”

John leans over Roger to read the notes as well, pressing up against Roger’s back and resting a hand on his shoulder. The move is comfortable and familiar and it makes Roger smile to himself. He never would have thought he’d be so taken with something so domestic, and yet here he is, three years into a relationship, smiling at the weight of his boyfriend against his back. These sorts of feelings freaked him out when they first started dating, but now he can’t imagine life without them.

“What’s wrong with it?” John asks.

And with that, they’re off. The day goes by in a whirlwind, but as it goes on, Roger can hardly bring himself to concentrate on anything. He thought he managed to fuck this little interest in lingerie out of his system last night, but if anything it made it worse.

Every time he looks at John, he feels a head-rush; especially when he’s playing: his head dipped down, a look of concentration written on his face, his fingers moving expertly over the strings… _Fuck_. It’s like he’s a bloody teenager again with the dirty thoughts that are running through his mind.

***

By the time they wrap for the evening, it’s obvious that John knows something is up. Roger has never been one for subtlety, and he’s sure even Freddie and Brian have noticed the way he’s been acting.

He hopes to escape without too many questions (though it’s not like that’s really possible considering he and John are driving together), so he makes quick work of gathering his things. The others leave before him and he’s almost on their heels when John slips in between him and the door.

John leans his back against the door to close it and reaches his hand behind himself to click the lock.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Roger can’t look away from his boyfriend’s intense stare.

“What?” Roger laughs nervously. “Why would I do a thing like that?”

“Yes, why would you do a thing like that?” John asks playfully as he pushes himself off of the door.

John presses his fingertips lightly into Roger’s chest as he moves forward, causing Roger to stumble backward until he hits the couch. John gently pushes him down and climbs on top, straddling him with such grace that it makes Roger swallow hard at the sight.

“You see, the funny thing is,” John says as he twists a strand of Roger’s hair around his finger. “Every time you _did_ look at me, I swear it’s like you wanted to eat me.

Not that I’m complaining,” John continues, shifting his attention to fiddle with the top button of Roger’s shirt. Roger can’t stop the gasp he produces when John leans down to suck at the base of his neck.

“Deaky, we’re— we’re in the studio,” Roger says between shuddering breaths, trying to get the words out before his last rational thought slips away.

John pulls his head back, eyes wide in a picture of innocence. “I know.”

“Fuck,” Roger whispers as he grabs the back of John’s neck to pull him into a rough kiss. He’s not sure what’s got John in this mood, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

John whimpers slightly as Roger wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him in tighter. Roger tries to deepen the kiss, but John pulls back pressing a finger to Roger’s mouth to stop him from following his lips.

“You see, I think I can guess what this is all about,” John says as he brushes over Rogers lips, down his neck, and to the remaining buttons on his shirt.

“What is what all about?” Roger asks, his head too foggy to catch up to the conversation.

“I wonder…” John says as he sweeps Roger’s shirt to the side and brings his lips back to his neck. Roger lets his head fall against the back of the couch. “If this wasn’t all brought about by the thought of me in something silky,”

John nips at Roger’s neck, causing Roger to buck his hips slightly. “Black,”

Desire pools in Roger’s abdomen when John brings lips to his ear and whispers, “Maybe sheer…”

The combination of John’s breath tickling his ear and the words he’s saying is too much and Roger can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes his lips. He feels John’s hand palm his erection that’s already straining against his jeans.

“I knew it,” John says into his ear before pulling back, a triumphant smile on his face. Roger can feel the heat rise in his cheeks. There’s no way to hide it now.

“Alright, Deaks.” Roger sighs, unable to look John in the eye. He opts to stare at the spot where John’s crewneck meets his collarbone. “You’ve got me. I’m a pervert who likes blokes in lingerie.”

“Well, I already knew you were a pervert,” John teases before asking, “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I dunno,” Roger mumbles, fiddling with the belt loop on John’s jeans. “I was embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” John laughs. ”Rog, you had me handcuffed to the bed last weekend and you’re embarrassed by a corset and panties?”

“Well, it’s— it’s—“ Roger can’t seem to let the words out.

“Babe, you know you can tell me anything, right?” John asks, concern entering his voice for the first time.

“I know, it’s just—“

“What is it?” John smooths down Roger’s hair, his brows knit together in worry.

“I didn’t want you to think I was trying to make you look more like a bird,” Roger finally confesses to both John and himself for the first time.

“Roger…” John says softly.

Roger stares up at the ceiling, his cheeks feeling impossibly red. He isn’t typically one to be shy in the bedroom, so this is all new and weirdly vulnerable territory for him.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I know it’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not stupid.”

“I promise.” Roger shifts his weight as best he can from underneath John. “I promise, Deaks. I’m not trying to make you look—“

John puts his finger to Roger’s lips, silencing whatever ramblings were about to spill out.

“Can I tell you a secret?” John asks. Roger simply nods.

John traces his finger down to underneath Roger’s chin where he gently tilts his head up, urging Roger to look into his eyes. When he finally does, John smiles and leans down so he’s a hair’s breadth away.

“I liked it, too,” he whispers.

Roger lets out a shuddering breath. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” John brings his hand to Roger’s cheek and closes the gap between them. Roger can’t help but smile into the kiss as relief floods over him.

“And honestly,” John says, pulling away. “If you didn’t fess up tonight, I was just going take my chances and show up at yours in some thigh highs and a trench coat.”

“I think I would have shit if you did that,” Roger blurts out. John throws his head back and laughs; the sound is so utterly delightful to Roger’s ears.

He tangles his hand in John’s hair and pulls him down for another kiss — the elation he feels is too much and he needs to let it out somehow. The kiss is sloppy and wet and it has Roger reeling. He is about to suggest they take things home, but John breaks away first.

“I want to play a game,” John says.

“A— a game?”

“Mhm,” says John, keeping his gaze locked on Roger. His hands move down to Roger’s waistband where he slowly undoes his jeans. “I want you to tell me your deepest, darkest fantasies, and I’ll blow you.”

Roger can’t look away from John’s eyes; they’re already revealing the siren he keeps hidden underneath. He just barely registers John motioning for him to lift his hips, and he must have complied because he can suddenly feel the cool air of the studio against his cock. The sensation is enough to slap him back to reality in time to register what John is saying to him.

“But here’s where the game comes in: I’ll only blow you as long as you keep talking. You stop, and I stop,” John says, tracing light circles with his thumbs against Roger’s thighs. “How’s that sound?”

“You’re fucking filthy,” Roger practically growls.

“You already knew that,” says John, already climbing off Roger’s lap and settling onto his knees between Roger’s legs.

“So,” John says. Roger gasps in a mixture of surprise and pleasure as John traces one finger so light that it almost tickles from the base of Roger’s cock all the way to the tip. “What do you say?”

The sight before him, with John on his knees, resting his head on Roger’s leg, looking up with sparkling eyes like he’s a subject in a Rococo painting could bring a nonbeliever back to God.

“How could I ever deny you when you look like that?” Roger says with more adoration than one man should ever possess.

John’s breath hitches and white-hot desire flashes across his expression. It only lasts a second, but Roger doesn’t miss it.

He grabs hold of Roger’s cock and starts lazily pumping up and down.

“Well?” John whispers.

Roger tangles his fingers through John’s hair, holding it out of his face for him. “Where do I even begin, sweetheart?”

He gasps when he feels John’s hot breath against his aching cock.

“How about you tell me what you want me to wear,” John says, looking up at Roger with a smile playing on his lips.

“Well, for starters—” Roger gasps when John licks a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, following the same path his finger took earlier.

“For starters, I’ve been thinking about those long legs in a pair of sheer— sheer stockings and— _fuck, John!_ ” Roger whines out when John takes him into his mouth, sinking down inch by inch. “and a pair of black heels to lift up that — _ah_ — that perky arse of yours.”

Roger lets out a long moan and tightens his grip on John’s hair when he hears John take a deep breath and swallow even more of Roger’s cock.

“I want you in a pair of lacy black underwear,” Roger continues. “I don’t care much what those look like, I’m gonna— I’m gonna — _God!_ — I’m gonna rip them off anyway.I want you in a corset. The kind that laces up the front. But most of all… Most of all…”

Roger’s voice trails off as he wrestles with the last bit, and true to his word, John lifts his head off with a loud _pop_. He looks up at Roger with an eyebrow raised, daring him not to continue.

“Fuck,” Roger says, looking up at the ceiling. “Most of all…” He wills himself to just fucking say it. “Most of all, I want you in that red lipstick— _John!_ ”

Roger gasps out, his hand flying up to grab hold on the back of the sofa when John takes him completely down his throat. His words start tumbling out like a sinner’s desperate prayer.

“ _John, fuck!_ I want to kiss you so hard your lips are bruised and swollen. I want to watch that lipstick smear all around your mouth, leaving a stain that won’t— that won’t wash off; telling the whole world just how — _ah_ — how filthy you are behind that innocent demeanor you play so well.”

John moans around Roger’s cock; the vibrations are so intense that it sends shockwaves up his torso. He gets lost in the sensation and loses his train of thought; the pleasure is so great that he has to resist whining like a little brat when John pops off again.

“You stopped,” John says simply.

“You should take it as a compliment, babe,” Roger says, trying to steady his breath.

“Is there anything else you’d like to add?” John challenges, “Or do you just not feel like coming tonight?”

Roger looks down at his lover’s face; he’s completely flushed, lips swollen, breaths labored. Any embarrassment Roger had over his fantasy is erased when it’s so painfully obvious that John shares in his deviance.

Roger sweeps the hair out of John’s face and smiles down something wicked. He quickly grabs the hair at the base of John’s neck and pulls back just hard enough to force John’s mouth away from his cock, force him to look up at Roger. The move is enough to flip the tables.

“What more can I say, baby? I’m going to throw you around like a rag doll,” Roger growls, reveling in the look of pure need in John’s eyes.

“I’m going to mark you up so everyone, _everyone,_ ” he emphasizes his point with an extra tug on John’s hair. “Knows that you’re mine and only mine.”

Roger finally eases his grip and can’t help the moan he produces when John licks around the sensitive head of his dick.

“You’re going to beg for me. You’re going to gag for me. I’m going to leave you — _God, baby_ — I’m going to leave you a shaking, mumbling mess.”

Roger can feel his mind slipping again and he fights his way through the fog. Even though he’s gained some control, he knows John well enough to know that their little game isn’t over yet.

“I’m going to keep you— keep you on the edge for so long—” Roger can feel the fire burning through his stomach and his muscles clench as he barrels towards the edge. His voice is frantic, his thoughts coming undone as he gets closer and closer to release. “So long that one touch — _fuck, John!_ — one touch and— and— John, please— Baby, please don’t stop!”

Roger arches his back off the couch and bites down on his arm has his orgasm rips through him. John slows down but doesn’t stop, swallowing Roger’s cum and sucking him off until the oversensitivity is too much and Roger gently tugs on his hair to lift him off.

After a moment spent catching their breaths, John helps Roger pull his jeans back on.

“So,” John says after he wipes the drool off his chin. “One touch and what?”

Roger chuckles and lovingly wipes the bit of spit that John missed. “Sweetheart, I’m going to keep you on the edge for so long that one touch and you’ll break into a million pieces like my own little porcelain doll.”

Roger is awarded with a look so beautiful that he can’t help but lean down for a kiss in the hope that he can capture it forever.

John rubs on Roger’s thighs and starts to get up. “I think we should probably head out before—“

Roger presses a hand down on his shoulder and says, “Oh, no.”

“What?” John asks, but before he can react any further, Roger slides off the couch and straddles John, pressing him back against the floor before pulling him in to a long kiss. He can taste himself against John’s tongue and greedily swallows every one of his lover’s moans as he quickly undoes his jeans.

“I won’t be the only one defiling this poor studio tonight,” Roger says when he breaks away from John’s lips, smiling when John’s laugh morphs into a quiet moan as Roger wraps his hand around his cock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun chapter lol. I hope you liked it!


	4. Anticip-

Roger wakes up to sunlight in his eyes. He groans and rolls over, hoping to catch a few more minutes of sleep. The room is absolutely freezing, so he reaches his arm out to huddle into John for warmth, but finds the other side of the bed empty and cold, which is strange considering he’s at John’s flat.

Roger wills his eyes open. The room is hazy and gray with a bit of sunshine peeking in from the blinds. It is clear that summer is officially gone and autumn has begun.

Roger brings his arms over his head and stretches, getting rid of the stiffness in his body. He scoots over to John’s side of the bed to look at the clock on the nightstand: 9:48. Far too early for someone who only has a few days off before being sent to sleep away camp. He is about to throw the covers back over his head when he sees a note on the nightstand. He picks it up and blinks a few times to try and bring it into focus.

_Rog -_

_Had to pop out for a few errands. Will be back this afternoon._

_Don’t eat all my food!_

_\- John_

Roger chuckles to himself before putting the note back on the nightstand. He stretches one more time before getting out of the bed to see what’s in the fridge. He hisses when his feet hit the cold hardwood floor and goes to John’s dresser to steal a pair of socks before padding to the kitchen.

***

After pottering around for most of the day, happy to finally have a day with absolutely nothing to do, Roger dozes on the couch. The click of the front door unlocking pulls him from his half-sleep. By the time he opens his eyes, John is bustling inside with bags in each hand. His hair is slightly damp and Roger cranes his neck to see a light pattering of rain against the window.

Roger gets up to close the door as John dumps his keys and the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. When he comes back to Roger to give him a quick peck, he is still holding on to two white bags.

“Got caught on the way back,” John says, gesturing to the window. “I have to go change right quick.”

“Here, let me take these,” Roger says as he grabs for the bags in John’s hand, but John is already peeling away.

“Oh, it’s no bother,” John says and disappears into the bedroom.

Roger chuckles to himself as he goes to the kitchen to unpack the groceries. He finds a bottle of red wine - marginally more expensive than the cheap stuff they normally get - and ingredients to make pasta.

After a few minutes, John emerges from the bedroom. His hair is a little mussed up from the towel dry he must have given it and he is wearing a simple gray sweater and sweatpants set; a far cry from his usual skintight duds, but Roger has always found this version of John to be just as attractive.

He pulls the bedroom door closed behind him before walking across the small living room into the kitchen, which piques Roger’s curiosity. He doesn’t say anything about it, though he does raise an eyebrow, which of course John only returns with an innocent look before he puts his focus on breaking down the empty bags.

“So,” Roger says, swatting John’s arse with the packet of spaghetti he’s holding. “Are you wining and dining me tonight?”

“That’s the plan, yes,” John says casually. “I know we’re both too exhausted to go anywhere, but we deserve to enjoy our last few nights of freedom before we’re dragged to the middle of nowhere.”

“Okay, you sop,” Roger says, though they both know that he’s swooning on the inside.

***

John checks on the pasta sauce, while Roger - his ever-attentive sous chef - helps by pouring them another glass of wine.

“Thanks, babe,” John says as he accepts his top-up.

Roger tears off a chunk of bread and dips it generously into the sauce.

“Oi! You wanker.” John swats at Roger’s arm while Roger pops the bread in his mouth.

“Taste testing,” Roger supplies with his mouth full.

“Greedy.” John rolls his eyes and bites back a smile when Roger gives him a smacking kiss on the cheek as an apology.

Roger hops up on the counter and sips on his wine while John slices the bread and assembles it on a baking sheet.

“So, are you going to tell me what was in those bags?” Roger asks, his curiosity getting the best of him.

“No,” John says as he drizzles olive oil over the bread.

“And why not?” Roger reaches out his leg to jab at John’s bum with his toe, but sadly, he is too far away.

“Because you’ll find out later.”

“Why not now?” Roger challenges.

“Because I said so,” John says, mimicking Roger’s tone.

Roger snorts at that and takes another sip of his wine. He gives up on all pretense of helping and enjoys the warmth of the kitchen.

He’ll never admit to it lest he dare ruin his party boy image, but this is where he is happiest; tucked away in his boyfriend’s tiny kitchen while the scent of garlic and tomatoes wrap around him. Nothing can get to him here - not the rain or the cold or the near-endless pressures from their label. If he could freeze time, he would stay right here forever, in this little corner of the world with his favorite person in the world.

God, it’s enough to make him gag. How John managed to worm this side out of Roger, he will never know, but he’s long past caring. If it means being this content, he’s happy to be a sentimental old fool.

***

The dishes are long put away and the patter of raindrops against the window blend in with the album spinning on the record player. Roger lays back against the arm of the couch with John settled between his legs. His eyes are closed and he hums along with the record as he runs his fingers through John’s hair.

“If you want to see your present now, you can,” John says.

“Hm?” Roger asks, opening his eyes.

“Your present,” John says.

“What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t know you were that forgetful,” John teases. “The bags you were so curious about earlier - you can see them now if you’d like.”

“Oh!” Roger perks up. “Those were for me?”

“Obviously!” John giggles as Roger excitedly pushes him off and scrambles off the couch.

If there’s two things Roger loves in this world, it’s presents and surprises. He bounds to John’s bedroom door and throws it open. He flicks the light on and enters, a little confused.

The first thing he sees is a plain white box on the bed. He is about to walk over to it when something else catches his eye.

John’s desk, usually littered with the remnants of whatever electronic he disassembled that week, is now littered with a vanity’s worth of makeup.

He turns around to see John leaning against the doorframe wearing a shy smile.

“Is this what I think it is?” Roger asks, his heart speeding up just a little.

John lets out a soft laugh and strides over to the bed. He gently places his hand on top of the white box and says, “You can’t open this one. There needs to be some semblance of mystery.

“But I… I need your help with the makeup.”

A blush rises in John’s cheeks when he looks up to meet Roger’s eyes and he looks so sweet and so nervous and Roger can’t help but close the gap between them and pull John into a crushing kiss.

He wraps one arm around the back of John’s neck and threads his other hand through John’s hair. John melts in his arms and pulls Roger in closer by the hips.

Roger is the first one to break it and brings his hand to John’s cheek. “I am the luckiest man alive.”

Roger pulls John back into another kiss, though it isn’t all that successful since John can’t stop smiling into it. Roger smiles as well and he pulls away again to kiss John on the cheek.

“Do you want to do it now?” John asks quietly.

_“Yes.”_ Roger is surprised to find that he practically hisses his response.

John laughs and gently pushes Roger away to take his seat at the desk. Since there is no other chair, Roger makes some space on the desk and hops up, putting his feet on the outside of John’s thighs and scooting him in a bit closer.

There have been a few times throughout the years where Freddie convinced John to put on makeup for a show, but he only ever allowed a bit of mascara and blusher to touch his face. The fact that John trusts Roger enough to allow him to paint his face however he wants swells Roger’s heart in a way that he thinks shouldn’t even be possible.

Roger cards his fingers through John’s hair and leans down to give John a gentle kiss.

“Thank you,” Roger mutters against John’s lips once they part.

“No need to thank me, babe.” John looks up at Roger with sparkling eyes and wraps his hand around the back of his calf. “I’m getting as much fun out of this as you.”

“I know, but… still,” Roger says, hoping John understands what he’s trying to say.

John gives his calf a squeeze, his silent way of letting Roger know he gets it.

“Are you going to make me up, or what?” John cocks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow.

“Patience, baby,” Roger teases and with one more kiss, he turns to look at the buffet of makeup set out on the desk. There’s brushes and compacts, pencils and bottles galore. The array rivals even Freddie’s makeup station before a show.

“Where did you get all of this, anyway?” Roger asks as he opens an eyeshadow palette full of soft browns and greens.

“I went to this costume shop Freddie was talking about once that’s more… understanding about these sorts of things,” John says.

“Sweet little Deaky went to a sex shop?” Roger gasps in mock-horror.

“Yes, call all the tabloids.” John pretends to be equally scandalized before giggling bashfully and Roger couldn’t love him more if he tried.

The two fall into a companionable silence as Roger gets to work. His hand hovers over the foundation compact, but he decides to skip it because that would cover up the gorgeous way John’s cheeks flush when he’s writhing underneath him. He starts with the blusher, putting just a bit on John’s cheekbones to highlight them. He adds a touch to the tip of John’s nose as well - a trick Roger uses quite often on stage - and John scrunches up his nose.

John giggles. “Tickles.”

“Yeah?” Roger says and just to mess with him, he trails the brush down John’s neck. John gasps at the sensation and tilts his head before his brain seems to catch up with what he’s doing.

“Stop that,” John says with a little laugh as he bats the brush away.

Roger just hums and raises an eyebrow. He runs the brush underneath John’s jawline, earning himself another gasp and John’s best attempt at a glare. He chuckles and puts the brush back on the desk, deciding it will definitely make another appearance at a later date.

He picks up the eyeshadow palette and leans in to feather some light brown pigment in the crease of John’s eyes.

“Close your eyes,” Roger says softly as he gently lifts John’s chin to get a better angle.

Roger swipes some forest green shadow across John’s eyelids and puts some shimmery white in the corners of his eyes.

“How’s it looking?” John asks, opening his eyes.

“Like I should switch careers and become a makeup artist,” Roger says, making John laugh.

“No laughing, you have to sit still for this bit!” Roger exclaims as he uncaps the eyeliner pencil.

“Then don’t say pompous things,” John retorts, but nevertheless closes his eyes again and lets Roger hold his face steady as he smudges the black eyeliner around his upper lash line.

“Gorgeous,” Roger mutters under his breath when John blinks up at him. John smiles and tries to duck his head down to hide from the compliment, but Roger doesn’t let him. He lifts John’s chin and steals a kiss; he pulls away and looks into John’s eyes - now looking even greener from the eyeshadow - and says with more intent, “You’re utterly gorgeous, Deaky. Always.”

“Alright,” John says with a small smile, which is good enough for Roger. John knows how good he looks, Roger has seen him preen for himself in the mirror enough times to never doubt that fact, he just seems to have an inexplicable inability to take a compliment.

Roger picks up the little tube of mascara and gives the wand a few pumps to coat the bristles. He leans in close and steadies his hand against John’s cheek.

“Blink,” Roger says and John begins to blink against the wand as Roger runs it through his eyelashes.

“Do you remember your safe word, baby?” Roger asks.

John scoffs. “Yes, I remember the bloody safe word.”

“Then what is it?”

“Sunday,” John says.

“Look up for me,” Roger says softly as he goes to put mascara on John’s lower lashes. John complies and Roger takes time to carefully coat each lash. “And what do you do if your mouth is otherwise preoccupied?”

John blushes slightly and Roger can tell he desperately wants to roll his eyes if not for the spikey wand so dangerously close to his eyeball.

“I pinch you twice,” John mumbles.

Roger takes the mascara wand away and smiles. “Good boy.”

John flushes an even darker shade of red and Roger is very satisfied with his decision to forego the foundation.

He puts down the mascara and looks to the final item: the golden tube of lipstick standing proud in the center of the desk. Roger can feel John’s eyes on him as he picks it up and turns it over in his hands.

The metal tube is surprisingly heavy, the top is etched with the image of a rose and the sides are ridged. The whole thing seems more expensive than any of the other makeup John brought home. It almost feels like a sacrament.

It could house almost any color. Maybe John picked out a bright red like an Old Hollywood starlet, or maybe he went with something darker like a Vaudevillian performer, or maybe he decided the red was too much and went with something softer like a light pink or peachy orange. He’ll be happy with whatever John decided on because he will only be able to enjoy it if John is comfortable, but God if he doesn’t feel almost nervous to take off the cap and reveal what’s inside.

Roger can’t delay it any longer, so he finally opens the lipstick. He slowly twists the tube and sucks in a sharp breath. It’s absolutely stunning.

The lipstick is a luxe, velvety red, like something a flapper would have worn for a night out on the town. Even in the tube, it has a soft sheen and Roger slowly turns it and watches as it catches the light just so.

“The lady at the shop, um… she helped me pick it out,” John explains, seemingly nervous at Roger’s silence. “Said this color complimented my undertones or something.”

“It’s perfect,” Roger says sincerely.

“Yeah?” A relieved smile spreads across John’s lips.

“ _Yes._ ”

Roger puts the cap down on the desk as John leans forward and tilts his head up, making his hair fall behind his shoulders. He slightly parts his lips in anticipation for the lipstick and looks up at Roger patiently. This image alone sends a warm rush of desire through Roger’s entire body.

Roger places his hand under John’s chin to hold him steady as he applies the lipstick. He starts at the cupid’s bow and slowly glides the lipstick down one side before moving to the other. Then, he brings it to the corner of John’s mouth and smoothly drags it along his lower lip, watching in awe as John’s pout is painted blood red. He gets a bit on the outside of John’s lips and uses his thumb to carefully swipe it away.

He breaks his gaze for only a moment to put the cap back on the lipstick and grab a tissue. He folds the tissue in half and brings it up to John’s lips. His blood flows hot under his skin as John slowly presses his lips together around the tissue, transferring his red lip-print to the napkin. Roger carefully puts it aside, deciding he will definitely be saving that tissue in his wallet until it disintegrates on him or he dies, whichever comes first.

John leans back again and Roger takes him in. He may not be a cultured man, but Roger is fairly confident that not even da Vinci could capture the portrait before him.

John’s cheekbones, already so high, look even more defined from the blusher. His eyelashes look almost flirty under the mascara and the eye makeup gives him a doe-eyed effect that makes Roger long to give him anything he wants.

And his lips… Fuck, John’s lips. They look like sin incarnate. Roger would do _anything_ if the request dripped from those lips.

Roger pulls John’s hair back over his shoulders and twirls his finger around a strand. He can’t help but laugh a little in some strange mixture of arousal and elation.

“I could fuck you right now just like this,” Roger says. It may not be the most eloquent thing he’s ever said, but the sentiment is true.

John throws his head back and laughs. “You are the most impatient person I have ever met.”

“Maybe, but _fuck_ …” Roger trails his finger down John’s cheek and lets it come to rest at his chin. He looks into John’s eyes and realizes he _needs_ him to see what he sees.

Roger gently grabs John’s chin and coaxes him to turn his head towards the floor-length mirror standing next to the dresser.

“Look at yourself, John,” Roger says, his voice pitched low.

He watches as John meets his own eyes in the mirror. John rakes over his face, going between his eyes and his lips, opening and closing his mouth like he forgot how to hold it. His expression switches rapidly from shock to disbelief to bashfulness to wonder, until finally, he lands on pride and he purses his lips against a gleeful smirk.

Roger leans in close so he can meet John’s eyes in the mirror.

“I have never seen anything more beautiful in my entire life,” Roger says and John’s breath catches at the sincerity of his words.

John takes Roger’s hand from his chin and gives it a squeeze.

“That said, you still can’t fuck me yet,” John teases, turning back to face Roger. “I’m kicking you out now, I can do the rest on my own.”

“You’re sure you don’t need any help?” Roger winks.

John doesn’t dignify Roger’s question with an answer and simply scoots his chair back before grabbing Roger’s hands and pulling him off the desk.

“Out you go,” John says, ushering Roger towards the door.

“Alright, alright, just…” Roger turns around and kisses John’s forehead, resisting the urge to kiss his lips as well. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Rog.” John giggles. “Now go!”

Laughing, Roger throws his hands up in surrender and exits the bedroom, his heart beating faster when he hears the door lock behind him.

***

It’s been ten minutes. Roger knows that because he’s looked at the clock a minimum of thirty times since he’s been out in the living room.

His nervous energy hasn’t allowed him to sit still, and in the time he’s been waiting, he’s fluffed the cushions on John’s couch, turned off the record player, and cleared the clutter off the coffee table. If anything, John will appreciate the fact that his flat got straightened.

Roger sits down on the couch and bounces his knee. Each minute that drags on seems to stretch longer and longer until he’s positively sure that the second hand on the clock is somehow slowing down.

Eleven minutes. Roger gets up from the couch and heads to the bedroom door. He raises a fist, ready to knock and see if everything is okay, when he stops himself and huffs a little laugh. John would call him if something was wrong.

_He’s making him wait on purpose._

Roger turns around and walks towards the kitchen counter. He places his hands on the cool countertop and leans against it.

Twelve.

He doesn’t remember the last time he was this wound up over a scene. His heart won’t stop racing and he can hear the blood pulsing in his ears.

He takes a few deep breaths and smiles to himself. The nervous excitement flows through his veins. Only John could give Roger the same rush he feels in those moments before he steps on stage for a large and energetic crowd.

Thirtee—

The click of the lock ringing out behind him snaps Roger into attention. His back tightens and he freezes, his hands pressing down harder into the counter.

“Alright, I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did all that fluff end up in my smut?? Lol I just can't resist making Roger a softie for John!
> 
> Sorry to cut it off where I did, but in true Rocky Horror fashion, I've gotta make ya wait!


End file.
